Moonlight Scars
by LucyCrewe11
Summary: Watching Wrolf leave, and knowing what it means, Robin recalls his feelings about the fight which caused Maria to leave him. One-shot. Some slightly AUish themes. Based off of the book and the movie.


**AN: This is just a short one shot that kinda randomly popped into my head. Basicly Maria and Robin have a fight and Maria leaves him. Kinda AUish, I think. Blended themes from both the secret of moonacre movie and the little white horse book (some of it is a little more book-based but I used some ideas from the movie, too). Anyway, I'm not actually sure what the fight this one shot deals with was about; looking over it, I don't think it matters, you can pretty much just fill in the blanks with whatever you want. Also, this fic is told in first person from Robin's point of view. **

Long after Wrolf was out of sight, I stood in the doorway, gazing off ever so sadly at the start of the wood, for I knew well he wasn't coming back. Neither was she. We had done the very thing we were warned not to do; oh, how very foolish we princes and princesses of Moonacre always turn out to be! We had been told we mustn't argue because that was how it always happened, ever since the first ever moon maiden went away.

It starts small, it always does, but then the argument turns bitter and all that is opposite of heaven breaks loose. How sure we were that we would never be like the others. Maria had scoffed at Loveday and Benjamin's feud over the pink geraniums.

"Imagine," my sweet little wife had laughed one night when neither of us could sleep, leaning gently on the side of my shoulder as we laid sprawled out on the bed together. "having a row that ruins _everything _over a pot of pink flowers!"

And I had laughed in return finding her frustration charming-alluring, even-thinking that we would never suffer the problems they had. After all, wasn't that the reason we hadn't married sooner? So that we might learn to control our tempers better? Were we not our own masters now, free from any quarrelsome curse once placed upon our beloved valley? Had we not proved our purity by giving Paradise Hill back to god? And yet, we failed. I suppose I needn't have gotten my temper boiling like that; but she was being so aggravating in that coy, demure way that rides right up my spine.

I didn't throw anything (except for my voice), but that did not change the course of fate. Honestly, thinking back, I am not even sure exactly what the dispute was about. That only pains me all the more-that it was so unimportant that we might have just laughed it off. We have before, sometimes, just disagreed a very little bit and then laughed about it, but this one time, I didn't wish to laugh. I felt like roaring; simply furious.

Part of me still wishes she'd at least said goodbye; even in a cold tone. A mere, "Goodbye, Robin." might have been enough to snap me out of it. Maybe then I would have caught myself and run after her. If there had only been some overt warning to break me out of my sulky spell, I would have grabbed her by both shoulders and shaken her for a moment.

"I love you, Maria!" I would have bellowed, my eyes probably filling up with tears I couldn't fully hide from her even if I'd wanted to. "Don't you even think about trying to leave me! Didn't I once threaten to wring everyone's neck if you wouldn't marry me? You know me-you know how I feel about you. I can't just let you leave."

Whatever she might have said, well, that is uncertain; for though I know her well-my beloved wife-she can be unpredictable sometimes. Fiery and bold when she is in a commanding mood, yet coy and smooth as ice when she is playful or apathetic. How she might have reacted to the one out-burst I should not have held back, I do not know for sure.

But I like to think that she would have perhaps smiled, just a little grin in the corners of her mouth.

Then I would have let it all out and thrown my arms around her, pulling her close and holding her for a few moments. She would have known-really _known_-that I still cared, that just because we had a disagreement didn't mean I wasn't in love with her anymore.

It occurred to me suddenly that an image in my mind of Maria adorned in the beautiful wedding dress with the _L_ embroidered on the right sleeve she wore the day we were married, standing beside Wrolf in his black dog form (for some reason it always rests there like an oil painting in a fine frame placed behind my closed eyelids), a moon princess and her ever-protective hound, was all I had left. And that painting blurred sometimes; even faded.

Oh, dear god, I thought brokenly as I placed my face in my hands and rested it in their folds, what have I done?

There will never be any forgetting her, though, that is certain. How can one forget their lover when everything surrounding them reminds their heart of the one they unwittingly let slip away? Every square inch of the valley is filled with memories-our memories.

I could go away, I suppose. Perhaps I would travel to London...part of me had gone there before...but part of Maria would be there, too. That was where she grew up after all; that was even, in a way, where we met.

It doesn't matter-there's no where to run to-she is always with me. Every time I look down at the back of my hand, where there is a scar she inflicted on me in self-defense once, when I was trying to pull her out of a carriage that had just come to a stop. Her french needle-point needle was thrust into my skin and pulled down, hard. For ever, on my hand, it remains. A blessing-I shall always know there was once a woman I loved who also, in turn and in time, loved me as well. A curse-I shall never be able to escape the memory of our quarrel, our improper goodbye.

Strangely enough, though I am lost, broken, disappointed, filled even with a bit of self-loathing, and terribly lonely, I am not bitter. I like to think that one day, perhaps when I am a very old man, I shall see the impossible: a white horse of the sea running passed my window and my dear Princess Maria seated upon his back, a crown of stars glittering like a diamond circlet upon her head and a gown of moonlight brilliance draped over her body. A perfect last slight for an elderly one-time prince of Moonacre, about to die and be at last forgiven for all his sins.

**AN: Well, I had fun writting it and all that, but I'd love to hear your thoughts so please review!**


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